And Hush
by lilacfumes
Summary: Oneshot piece - chronicles Captain Jack Sparrow's meeting with an as of yet unnamed prostitute following an as of yet unnamed tragedy. Set post-OST. Rated M for inferred sexuality. R&R, please!


**I should apologise in advance for the vagueness of this piece. It's an idea I've been toying around with for a bit and only really put it into words last night. **

**This is kind of a loaded oneshot - it plays into a lot of things that could be expanded, which makes me think that with enough kind reviews and encouragement, I might turn it into something bigger! R&R please, you kind and lovely people. **

"How much would I have to pay to keep you all night?"

The words, as they fell from his lips, were dripping in the treacle tone only recognised post-coitus – that sweet sort of begging, always wanting to woo, always wanting more. It was something that she had learned to let fly over her head, as giving into it would lead to quite the painful fall. She had learned that the hard way, and she was hardly about to let herself succumb to it again.

As she rose from the bed, she dragged the thin duvet with her, wrapping it lazily around her slightly slouched body. This only excited him more – he dived forwards, managing to grab the very corner of the sheet and slowly, hand by hand, drag her back to him. As soon as she was in close enough reach, those same wandering fingers wrapped a tight vice around the back of her neck. His lips had no business enveloping hers as hungrily as they did, but he managed it nonetheless. She could be partly to blame, letting herself melt into his touch for a moment before regaining her composure and pushing him from her in one rough, swift motion.

"More than five guineas, le'me tell ya'," she said, petite features twisted into a smirk as a nod gestured towards his measly pay left at her bedside. For the whole day, he would have wanted to buy her a decent few dresses, maybe some of those fine quality petticoats the ladies of name always seemed to end up wearing towards the end of sweaty Tortuga nights. Stolen, of course, but fine quality either way. A few jewels wouldn't go amiss, either – sapphires, rubies, emeralds... jewels of colour. She wasn't an avid fan of diamonds. Something about them was just so transparent.

She turned, reaching for the clothes he had managed to rip off only a few hours prior. She only hoped he hadn't seriously damaged anything this time, because even with her current earnings, she couldn't afford to replace it.

That slightly hoarse, monotonous phrase came back into play then, just when she thought he had bypassed it.

"You know I could afford that," he murmured, and even with her back facing him, she could feel those fiery eyes pierce right through her, "You know I could afford you."

There was always that moment, she found, whenever she agreed to serve him, or even see him on a casual basis in the broad daylight – not that there was much to be seen in a town like that. There was always that one moment that took her by surprise, even though she had constantly been anticipating it; when he made her feel like a _product_, something that could be used at his disposal for whatever purpose he saw fit. Perhaps it was foolish of her to think so, but she always maintained the idea that he was different in that way. That, behind all of his romantic tomfoolery, there was something genuinely decent that resided within him.

But, of course, there wasn't.

Dropping the duvet, she let both arms hang lazily as she slowly rotated to face him. He was sprawled nude on her mattress, bronzed body free of all tension. What a glorious creature he was to behold, so profoundly serene outwardly yet so inwardly shallow.

Approaching the bed in a somewhat timid manner, she let her hands hover above his form as she crawled atop him. Long, pale fingers running upwards from his stomach to his chest to his shoulders, she took solace in his minute whimpers, those which he thought she could not hear. If anything, it meant that she was in control, albeit momentarily.

"Of _course_, darling," she whispered in a soothing tone, "You're Captain Jack Sparrow. You can have anything you want..."

Lowering herself, she perched comfortably on his stomach, legs straddling him. Her hands continued to travel the extent of his arms, fingers webbing with his once she reached them. His eyes, stained with that dreadful kohl he insisted upon wearing, were shut lightly and his mouth was on the precipice of the softest of moans. Her lips, inches from his, recoiled from their smirk as her hands suddenly pinned his above his head, causing his eyes to fly open. In the dark brown orbs was a sparkle of excitement.

"Except," her lower body arched, settling itself expertly over his groin, "if you think I'm a solution to your woes... I'm not. I'm just adding to the load."

She could hear Sparrow gasp against her lips – much to his chagrin, for she knew how he hated to show any sign of submission.

"That's... a loaded statement," he struggled to string the sentence together, "but I think I can handle one more added worry."

Hearing that, she thrust into him with vigour, a searing shock of intense pleasure running through both of their bodies.

She was winning – for now, at least.


End file.
